


Through the Vents (Into Your Bed)

by RainGirl696



Series: Who's Your Daddy? (That little Shit) [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deaf Clint Barton, Face-Fucking, M/M, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Parent Nick Fury, Rough Oral Sex, Texas, houston, yeah you heard me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5584891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainGirl696/pseuds/RainGirl696
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal security made the Pentagon and the White House jealous but somehow a troubled kid with authority issues makes it through the ventilation system into Phil's office without triggering any alarms except one...Phil knows he shouldn't sleep with him but he decides to take his friends' advice and live a little. But leave it to him to sleep with the one man he probably shouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Vents (Into Your Bed)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Baby Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2284770) by [Not_You](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You). 



> *Author ducks behind Captain America's shield* I havent given up on My Hands Say I Love You, I promise! I just need a break, its really turning in to a monster. So i started this one shot series. There may or may not be a correlation between reviews and number of installments ;) oh and Daddy kink will be involved by second or third installment and carry through to the end. 
> 
> I gigantic thank you to lola381pce and consultingfishtherapist my lovely betas!

Through the vents (into your bed)

  
  
  


Phil Coulson leaned back in his plush leather office chair as his best friend droned on. There was really only so long he could listen to how magical a place Tahiti was. He was glad his old friend was back though. They had, after all, been through so much together over the years.

 

S.H.I.E.L.D, the private security company that Phil now ran, had been started by Marcus Johnston a little over ten years ago. At its conception it was decided that the headquarters would be built in Clear Lake, a suburb of South Houston, Texas primarily due to all the natural resource and technology development companies centered there, all readily available to become potential clients. It was also no coincidence that it was just down the street from their biggest contract, NASA (although Phil suspected the real reason was that Marcus was just sick of the cold). Still, in Phil’s mind at least there was something inherently wrong about having your AC set to 70 in late October - and it often stayed that way till January. Marcus had handed over the reigns to Phil a few years back, so he could retire. 

 

“Oh, and the little shit is back in town. You really need to come over for dinner one night, Cheese. The kid can't cook for shit, but he has amazing radar for the best take out.”

 

Ah yes, ‘The Little Shit’; Marcus’s most common term of endearment for his now full-grown adopted son. If another name was ever used for the boy, it was Hawkeye. Leave it to Marcus, the man also known as Nick Fury, to give his teenage son a code name (in truth, after all these years, Phil couldn’t even recall the kid’s real name). If his memory  _ did _ serve him right though it wasn’t quite two decades ago when Marcus took the boy in. He had been walking home one night from a corner market when he was stopped by a frail young boy with a tiny Derringer, threatening him for all his money. And, of course, he did what any self respecting badass with over fifteen years of black ops military training would do; he disarmed the punk, brought him home, fed him, and taught him how to properly use a gun. 

 

Apparently within the first couple weeks while harbouring the foster care run away, Marcus had noticed the amazing potential the kid had with firearms, therefore decided to become the boy’s foster father. A year later he adopted the boy, he was just sick of the bureaucratic bull shit. At least that's what he said. Marcus with a kid was truly a bizarre concept, but it seemed to suit the man. Perhaps it was having a young protégé to mold and take pride in that sat so well with Phil’s oldest friend. Of course that was all what he had been told by Marcus, Phil had never actually met the boy. Not by choice, the timing was just never right.

 

“Well, if I can ever close the deal with Boeing, I can start sleeping in my my own bed again. ‘Til that happens I’m likely to pull a gun on the delivery boy if he's more than two minutes late,” Phil informed his old Army Ranger buddy, loosening his tie. While the lack of snow and ice was a pleasant change, and Phil was no stranger to high temperatures after his years spent in deserts; the humidity was absolutely murder. 

 

Marcus raised the eyebrow over his one remaining eye, then shrugged. “So, we’ll order from one of my regular places. They ought to be used to it by now.” he said, completely serious. Somehow it came as no real surprise that a takeout frequented by Nick Fury was at ease with a gun-toting badass in a black leather coat.

 

Before Phil had a chance to respond, a calm but strong female voice came over the intercom. “Sir, we have a slight situation here.”

 

“Well that’s my cue to leave you to your own chaos. Consider my offer, Cheese. I might even have some hot young men over for a nightcap,” Marcus said with a wink as he left (or was he just blinking?), his black trench coat swishing behind him. 

 

How he could wear that thing twelve months out of the year instead of two, Phil would never know. Once the sparsely furnished top floor office was empty, he turned his attention to the matter at hand. 

 

“What situation could we possibly have that you can’t handle, Hill?” Phil said into the intercom. Maria Hill was his personal assistant, head of internal security, and above all else his right hand man (she was secure enough to not find the title offensive.)

 

“I have a young man out here who wishes to see you, but he doesn't have an appointment. Infact I checked our logs he has actually been denied one several times.”

 

“Oh for heaven's sake Hill, we have the Pentagon jealous of our tech and people. How the hell did he make it up here to you?” 

 

“That's part of the situation sir. No one really knows.”

 

“Get rid of him. No, better yet, detain him.”

 

“That's the other part of the situation sir. I have him at gunpoint and he's completely calm, and... _ ignoring _ me.” Her voice held a note of incredulity at the last part.

 

Now that was something you didn't see everyday. Maria Hill was a force to be reckoned with even in a good mood. Someone totally unfazed by her was either an absolute idiot, or highly trained. Phil was dying to know which was the case. 

 

He took his trusty Desert Eagle out of his desk drawer, loaded it, and turned the safety off before placing it on the surface in plain sight. “Send him in.”

 

“But, Sir...”

 

“Send him in, Hill.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Phil pressed a button under his desk disengaging the heavy internal deadbolt, and waited for the intruder to enter. 

 

The individual who came through the door was not at all what he was expecting. In his doorway stood a beautiful young man in a black under Armour shirt and black cargo pants. Roughly around thirty, with sandy blonde hair, he had light smokey eyes of a color Phil couldn't quite distinguish. And his arms. His gloriously muscular arms. Those arms would look incredible pinned above his… What the hell was he thinking? He really needed to get laid - and soon it seemed.

 

“Sit.” Phil commanded firmly, when he had finally managed to shake himself of the salacious thoughts. 

 

The young man, who had been standing at parade rest, oddly enough, nodded and took a seat in the black leather arm chair across from his desk. 

 

“For the record, you are trespassing. One wrong move and I  _ will _ shoot you. It’s the wonderful thing about Texas after all.” Phil informed him with a flat expression, while nodding to the gun. 

 

“Sure. Ok.” The man replied, far too casually for Phil’s liking.

 

“Who are you, and why are you here?”

 

“Barton, Clinton Francis, Sir. I need your help.” While the man was in fact sitting, he was alert and rigid, as if he were sitting at attention. Evidence was quickly pointing to the highly trained option. Perhaps even special ops like himself. 

 

“At ease, son.”  Phil wasn’t quite sure why he used the term, but the moment the order left his mouth the young man, no Barton, completely relaxed. He actually seemed to look quite peaceful. When Barton was leaned back, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, with his forearms on the rests, he certainly seemed to take the order literally.

 

Phil continued. “What do need my help with, and why me? I’ll say this once, get to the point but be precise and clear.”

 

Barton sat up just a bit straighter. “I want to join H.P.D  S.W.A.T. The police academy has turned me down for medical reasons, but I know I can do the job and I know I’ll be great. Someone close to me said you’re good friends with the Houston Chief of Police. That person said if I can convince you I’m more than capable, you could help persuade the police Chief to make an exception. I know he can do that if he has good enough reason.”

 

Phil schooled his expression not allowing his frustration to show. “If you were turned down for medical reasons than you can’t, infact, do the job properly. Now, tell me how you got in, then leave, and I won’t have you arrested. Which by the way would completely kill your chances at any public service job if your medical condition weren’t enough.” 

 

A smug smirk crossed Barton’s lips. “Ok. Sure. After you help me.”

 

The arrogant little punk was starting to get on Phil’s nerves. Still, he couldn’t help but admire the brass balls on the guy. Which just pissed Phil off all the more. 

 

“Tell me how you got in here, and I’ll hear your case. I will then decide, on my own, if it’s worth my time to help you,”  Phil bargained. He was way too curious about this guy for his own good.

 

Barton twisted his lips in thought for a moment before replying. “So I tell you how I got into the building and up to your assistant, and you promise you will hear my case?” he asked carefully.

 

That was way too easy, Phil thought. Oh well, he could use some moving target practice. “Yes. You have my word.”

 

“The vents.”

 

Phil wasn’t sure he heard right, and if he did he didn’t believe it was possible. “Excuse me.”

 

“That’s how I got in, through the ventilation system.” Barton clarified with the same smug smirk from earlier.

 

Phil was both outraged and confused, though he never let it show. “That’s not possible. My vents are secure. How on earth did you…” 

 

“Uh-uh-uh” Barton chided in a sing song voice. “That wasn’t our deal. You asked how I “ _ got in _ ” not how I got around your security. I fulfilled my end, now it’s your turn. After that I will tell you everything you need to know to prevent someone from using my method of entrance again.” 

 

Cursing internally but keeping his face free of emotion Phil realised Barton had him there. He was not however going to fall for that twice. “As well as any other weaknesses you are aware of or suspect,” he added.

 

Clint gave him a solemn nod of respect. “Deal.”

 

Phil leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “For what medical condition were you rejected, and why on earth do you think it’s worth overlooking?”

 

“I’m deaf. I lost my hearing when I was nine, but now I have hearing aids, well technically a cochlear implant.” he said while turning his head and pointing to a bright purple device that was both in, and wrapped around the back of his ear. “My hearing isn't perfect but I  _ can _ hear and read lips which, you got to admit could really come in handy.” 

 

That would explain why he stared so intently as he spoke to him. As Barton continued he took a packet of papers from a file folder in his lap and walked it over to Phil, placing it on the desk before sitting back down. The paperwork was the young man’s resume. Phil scanned through it as Barton continued. 

 

“I'm a sniper. And damn great one. I mean, uh, not officially. Like I’ve never worked as one before. But I'm trained as one. I was in an Army Cadet’s program in highschool, and my pop, he’s ex-military, taught me guns really young and every thing he knew about sharp shooting. He said I was a great marksmen before I even turned sixteen.”

 

His resume was indeed impressive considering there was no way any military branch would touch him with a ten foot pole, with or without a hearing device. He was right though the police department was allowed to make exception on a case by case basis. But that was usually for little things like height or weight, this was asking a lot. With what Phil read in the file in front of him even if the man hadn’t just less than average hearing he would have been snatched up years ago. 

 

After graduating high school Barton got a Bachelors with a double major in Environmental Science and Criminal Justice, while working as as an instructor at a gun range. That alone was impressive. You didn't see many eighteen year old firearms instructors after all.  Everything after that was icing on the cake. He then became a park ranger in Colorado, Oregon and his longest and most recent employment was Minnesota, where he started and headed a private search and rescue team. He even trained teams for other parks and was certified to pilot helicopters and small bush planes. 

 

He turned the page finding a few more pages of reference letters. They all commented him on having “superior marksmanship” but he didn't miss that they all hinted at him having an attitude problem and issues with authority. That much was already clear to Phil. Despite that, if Barton was half as good as he believed and the letters claimed, Sitwell, the chief of police, and Romanov, the head of S.W.A.T would be fools to not at least give him a shot.  He was just curious about a couple things

 

“Two questions. First one, why S.W.A.T.?”

 

For a moment before the boy spoke, his face looked pleading, almost desperate. But it was gone as quickly as it came. “I have skill, a God given remarkable talent some have said, and I…. I want to do more with it than hunt game and take down rogue Grizzlies.” 

 

Phil nodded. “Who sent you to me?”

 

Barton set his jaw firmly and tensed his body briefly as though preparing for an attack. “I'd really rather not say, Sir.”

 

“Why not? Did I get them arrested?” Phil asked smartly with an eyebrow quirked. 

 

“The opposite sir. If I told you who sent me he said you would help me without ever talking to me. Sir, I want this. But if I get in I want it to be because I'm good enough, not because I know the right people.” 

 

That Phil truly respected. In fact that alone was reason enough to at least watch the boy shoot. That didn't mean he wasn't intrigued to know who he would do something like that for. The only person he could think of wasn't a candidate...as far as he knew. Phil sat back in his chair and looked at Barton for a few moments. The young man held his gaze without blinking but a hopefulness entered his eyes. Decision made, Phil leaned forward his hand reaching out to the intercoms.

 

“Hill, are you able to clear my schedule for the rest of the day?” Phil asked. 

 

A moment later her reply came. “Yes sir, easily. Oh and did you want to return you mother’s call?”

 

“No, not at the moment, I'm sure she's fine and can wait.” 

 

Clint smirked. “Nice code for the cops. I gotta remember that one.” 

 

Whoever privately trained the little punk did an amazing job; he was probably a Marine or something of the like. 

 

“Well, looks like my schedule just opened up. Let's see what you got.” Phil said as he stood and led the way to to S.H.I.E.L.D’s state of the art subterranean training facility. 

 

Once there Phil ran Barton through every training simulation available to them. Even testing various scenarios with Barton’s custom made com unit (the main reason he insisted his hearing loss wouldn’t be a problem). Phil still had a few questions and concerns regarding this. What if it failed? How would he follow commands? But he supposed that was Sitwell’s problem.

 

He passed every obstacle with flying colors. And his marksmanship… Well no one was exaggerating. He hit every single mark exactly where he was told to hit, every single time, with every firearm handed to him. He did the same with knives. It was almost as if every thing that left his hands landed or hit exactly where he intended. And if every time the boy moved or stretched, skin was exposed, his arms flexed deliciously, or his tight ass was put on display, well that was just the imagination of a dirty only man who hadn't gotten laid in several months. Right?

 

Once they were done, without being told Clint set about cleaning and putting away the equipment and restoring the facility to its previously pristine state. He tried not to watch Phil as he walked away, holding his phone up to his ear to make a call.  _ The _ call, he hoped. Shit! He wanted this so much. More than he realised until now. And that wasn’t the only thing he wanted and he didn’t think it was one-sided either. While he tidied he thought back to the way Phil studied him. Not just to get a handle on how he operated as a sniper but occasionally there was something else behind the looks. Not every time. Mostly it was extremely professional but now and then, when he stretched a certain way or flexed his arms he could feel something more from Phil...more  _ lustful _ maybe? Once he was even sure Phil had licked his lips when is t-shirt rode up leaving his skin bare. He shuddered happily at the memory, feeling his cock stir in his pants. If he could have some of that even once.

 

Impressed that Clint had begun to set the training area straight without him asking, Phil stepped away to make the call. Jasper Sitwell was sceptical and it took some cajoling but eventually the Police Chief agreed to meet the young marksman the next morning. With only a little more convincing Jasper agreed to bring Natasha Romanov along. If he truly had what it took to join S.W.A.T. Phil knew having her there could only work to Clint's benefit.

 

Once his phone was back in his jacket pocket, he turned to where Barton stood, leaning against a punching bag. Despite the rigorous challenge, it was only a few beads of sweat on his forehead and his cargo pants riding even lower on his hips that gave any sign of the previous workout. It was a good look on him.

 

“Barton, tomorrow morning, zero eight hundred hours, Chief of police Sitwell will see what you have to offer. Don't be late.” 

 

The young man stood and approached him, and extended his hand in gratitude. “Thank you sir. I really appreciate it.” 

 

Phil took the younger man's hand in a firm shake, savoring the contrast of smooth skin and gun callouses on both their hands - but only for a moment. “If you really are capable, then they will be idiots not to take you. But I do want to add I could start you at almost twice the salary.” Phil would also be an idiot if he didn't at least try to get him for S.H.I.E.L.D, despite how set Barton was on S.W.A.T. 

 

Barton gave him wry grin. “Thanks for the offer, but do you mind if I just keep it for the rebound?” 

 

“Well that's better than a no.” 

 

“Ya know sir, I'm feel pretty optimistic. In fact I think I'd like to have a drink. Can you recommend a good bar?” Clint asked with a tiny smirk. 

 

“There's a nice pub, part of a chain, just around the corner called Sherlock’s. The clientele is pretty young though, mostly college students. But if you want something more divey, Union Tavern is my preferred choice, on El Dorado, just before you hit I-45,” Phil advised while waiting to see what the man's next move was. He had a hunch what was happening. But he had to be sure before he acted. 

 

Clint took a step closer, putting him right in Phil's personal space. He reached out, and grasped the end of Phil's tie between his thumb and fingers, toying with the end. 

 

“The Tavern place sounds good, but ya know, I'm brand new to the area, don't know my way around yet. You might want to come with me to make sure I don't get lost,” he suggested with a clearly salacious leer. 

 

Phil now knew exactly what was happening, and couldn't find it in himself to resist. Even though Barton was clearly a friend of a friend, they were always trying to set him up with someone and telling him to get laid. Hell, he would probably get a pat on the back. But that didn't mean he couldn't play hard to get, at least a bit. 

 

“If you can't find your way through two turns to Union that may be more reason to disqualify you from S.W.A.T than your hearing. Unless your just wanting to buy me a drink to show your gratitude?” Phil said flatly but quirked a brow at the end. 

 

Clint took another step in, putting them almost chest to chest. Clint then began to stroke the length of his tie in a downward yet sensual motion. “Actually, thought you might want to buy me a drink to celebrate.” Clint then looked Phil dead in the eye before adding, “ No gratitude here.” His message was quite clear. 

 

It wasn't every day an old man like himself had a gorgeous young stud like that come on to him so clearly. Phil decided to go for it; carpe diem and all that. 

 

“I'll meet you in 15 by the Jeep Patriot.”

 

“Yes sir.” With one more lewd smile Clint turned on his heels and headed for the elevator. 

 

Phil allowed himself only a moment to watch the sway of Clint's toned ass, before rushing up to his office to close everything up and grab his briefcase. 

 

Feeling someone’s eyes burning into him as he hurriedly shut his systems down he looked up from his desk and saw Hill watching him from the doorway leaning against the frame, arms and ankles crossed. One of her eyebrows was raised and there was an amused smirk playing across her face.

 

Phil tried to keep the blush from showing but he could feel the tips of his ears glowing. He paused to stare at her studying him. “Is there a problem, Hill?” 

 

“Nooo.” It was obvious to her what was going on but she played along anyway.

 

With as much dignity as he could muster he snapped his briefcase shut and walked towards her. “I’ll be gone for the rest of the day. Cell will be on if you need me.” 

 

She gave him a mock salute. “Yes sir.”

 

“Have fun,” she called to his retreating back.

 

***

 

When he arrived at his vehicle Barton was leaning against the back of the SUV, biting his thumb and staring at bright blue sky. It was quite an adorable sight.  Without a word Phil hit the unlock button on his key fob and approached the driver side door. Before getting in he removed his suit jacket and tie, unbuttoned the top few buttons at his collar, and rolled up his sleeves. Once in the car he immediately started the engine, cranked up the AC and rolled down the windows. Clint was already settled in the seat beside him, staring at him heatedly.

 

As he pulled out of the parking lot and onto Bay Area Boulevard Phil asked more sharply than he intended, “Is there something that interests you, Barton?” 

 

“First of all sir, I think at this point you should call me Clint. Second of all, the way you wore that suit I assumed you were born in it. But I must say I'm grateful the thing can come off after all,” Clint replied licking his lips. 

 

“Ok Clint, then call me Phil. And the truth is, I  _ was _ born in a suit. You see on my eighteenth birthday my father told me the truth, I was actually conceived when my mother fell into a rack of Gucci men’s wear on Black Friday.”

 

Clint's responding giggle was music to Phil's ears, and he was sorry to hear it stop when they pulled into the strip mall that housed the bar. 

 

Inside was small but big enough to fit what there was without it looking crowded (although it was still fairly empty of patrons). The bar itself was a giant square taking about a third of the room, the rest was rickety old tables and aged booths. There was a tiny stage opposite the bar and two pool tables in between. The walls were covered in an odd mix of vintage posters, like Rosie the Riveter, and comical street signs, like `It’s all shits and giggles, til someone giggles and shits.’ 

 

Phil left Clint to find a booth, while he procured their drinks. Once he returned he slid in and handed him his beer.

 

“What's this?” Clint asked, examining the dark amber liquid.

 

“Shiner. It's practically the official beer of Texas. So, welcome to Texas,” Phil explained  as he clinked his glass to Clint’s, before taking a drink.

 

For the next couple of hours conversation flowed easily with the help of only a few more beers. They talked about Clint's move, and what it was like living in a cabin in the woods for a good part of the last decade. Phil told him what to expect from life in Texas. They discovered a mutual love of ‘Dog Cops,’ and ‘How I Met Your Mother’, take out, and so much more. Soon, it felt like Phil was talking to an old friend, not a stranger. 

 

While they became familiar with one another's personal lives, they were also familiarizing themselves with the other’s body. What started with Clint's hand innocently moving onto Phil's knee, ended with both sets of hands wandering and lips whispering dirty promises into ears. By eight o’clock they’d decided to take their escapades elsewhere, before they defiled the neighborhood bar, or, quite possibly, pissed off the wrong redneck. The tightness in Phil’s slacks which had been bothering him for over an hour was another great motivator.

 

Phil’s house was, at most, five minutes away from both the bar and S.H.I.E.L.D, in an affluent neighborhood of Clear Lake. The entire drive, Clint had latched himself to Phil's neck, making it his mission to suck as much blood to the surface as possible, while his hands wandered wherever they could reach without impeding Phil's driving. 

 

Once inside the door, clothes began to fly off and Phil locked his lips to Clint’s, pulling him down the hall to his room whilst simultaneously trying to remove the rest of the offending garments with the other. The kiss was dirty, wet and sloppy - all teeth and tongue, with no finesse. By the time they reached the bed they separated only long enough to kick off their pants. 

 

Before Phil's second foot was out of his slacks, Clint pulled him down on top of himself and latched their lips together once more. 

 

Phil did his best to slow things down, wishing to savor the feel and taste of Clint. He dragged his tongue through the younger man’s mouth, feeling the softness of the insides and every perfect tooth; the lingering taste of beer and…caramel it seemed. It was intoxicating. The feel of Clint's hard well-toned body beneath his hands was just as exhilarating. It may have been a while since he’d been laid, but fortunately, Phil’s experience still managed to show as he was able to reach into the drawer of the bedside table for the necessary supplies without breaking the connection. 

 

Clint sucked hard and vigorously on Phil’s tongue, all the while moaning obscenely. His hand found its way into the older man’s briefs and stroked the  hard firm, solid length of him, a small gasp escaping Phil's lips. 

 

Clint was becoming impatient and expertly flipped them, straddling Phil's legs, and wrestling down his underwear just far enough to free his swollen erection. Phil had barely rolled the condom on before Clint swallowed his cock. 

 

Phil released a low guttural groan. The feel of Clint's mouth was absolutely divine. His tongue started working at the underside of the head in quick little motions, side to side. Phil wove his fingers into Clint's hair. 

 

“Ahhhh...yes baby...that's it,” Phil sputtered between labored breaths. 

 

Clint finally began sucking, and hard. Not only was it intense but it was rhythmic as well making Phil’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

 

“Oh yeah...ahhhh...oh, good boy...so good.” Phil practically moaned his words. 

 

Clint responded with the most indecent sound Phil had ever heard, taking the rest of his length until his nose was buried in Phil's curls. Phil couldn't stop his hips from bucking up into Clint's mouth as the pressure engulfed his cock. He felt Clint's throat tighten and spasm around his shaft, and it felt magnificent. His enjoyment was replaced by guilt when he heard Clint choking and sputtering around him. That was until Clint groaned and tightened his hands on Phil's thighs. 

 

“Did you like that, sweetheart? Hmm? You want me to fuck your pretty mouth while you just lay there and take it? Is that it, sweetheart?” Phil asked gently while carding his fingers through the sniper’s,  _ his _ sniper’s hair. Clint nodded vehemently around Phil's cock. 

 

Clint guided Phil's hands to the base of his head, then supported himself on his forearms as Phil began to thrust in to his mouth. With the encouraging sounds Clint made it didn't take long for Phil to set a punishing pace. He only faltered briefly to put more pillows behind himself so he could watch his cock glide easily in and out of the boy’s mouth. 

 

“That's it. Ahhhh! You’re such a good boy taking my cock like that.”

 

Another lewd sound escaped Clint's lips around his cock. The sounds, sight, and fluttering of Clint's choking throat were becoming just too much. He barely even noticed Clint thrusting his hips against the bed. It wasn't much longer before he felt the familiar tightening in his groin that extended to all of his limbs and out to the tips of his toes. Without warning he rasped out Clint's name as he came. 

 

After showering Clint in a few more praises Phil discarded his condom in the bin beside the bed, then flipped the blonde to return the favor. He covered him quickly with another condom and set about drawing as many beautiful whimpers and whining sounds from the boy as he could. Clint must've been closer than Phil thought because it took no time at all before he found his release, clutching the pillow and bed covers in a death grip, with one final pitiful whimper on his lips as he came and came hard. Phil slid up the bed and they lay together for a few moments, the older man stroking Clint’s body tenderly as he slowly relaxed from his orgasm.

 

It felt good the two of them lying there and after clean up was done he was glad to have the beautiful man wrapped in his arms. He must have been getting older than he thought because not a moment later he was out for night. When he woke the next morning his bed partner was gone with only a note in his place. The note was actually two sheets of paper. 

 

The top one read;

 

_ “Had a great night. Maybe again sometime? Had to jet to stay on time. _

_ -CB _

 

  1. _Here's my end of the bargain.”_



 

Beneath the note was a complete layout of all the security weaknesses in the S.H.I.E.L.D.  ventilation system. Without much thought Phil would put the second note in his briefcase which had been haphazardly dropped by the front door. The first note however he tucked carefully into his bedside drawer. There was no contact information and no promise to call, only the suggestion that maybe it could happen again. Phil found it a bit unsettling how much he wish for that day. He knew what he was getting into, that no matter what it looked like it wasn't a date with the promise of a future. But there was something about that man’s mischievous grin that touched parts in Phil that had lain long forgotten. Phil was sure Clint would make it into S.W.A.T, and Houston wasn't _that_ big. Ok, yes it was. Still, maybe he would see him again. It could happen. 

 

***

 

A month later Phil met Marcus for lunch at Perry’s Steakhouse to celebrate landing the contract with Boeing, and take the opportunity to catch up. Unfortunately he would have difficulty keeping it down. 

 

“How's Hawkeye by the way? Is he still staying with you?” Phil asked while taking a bite of his aged ribeye. 

 

“Nah, the little shit is at the police academy. Thanks to you, Sitwell gave him a chance, and after Romanov got one look at what he could do, she informed the Chief she was keeping him.”

 

Oh no! It couldn't be. It wasn't possible.  _ How _ did he not see it? What sort of fucking security expert was he to miss it or at least, dismiss it out of hand. Of course Nick Fury’s son would be a talented sniper who could break into a secure building undetected. It took all of Phil's years of training not to choke on his food (like his best friend’s son so beautifully choked on his cock) and give himself away. 

 

“I didn't know your son was deaf.” Phil said as casually as possible. It didn't seem as though his friend had caught on. 

 

“Yeah, but no kid of mine would let that stop him. But I've been dying to know one thing, Cheese.” Marcus said placing his flatware down and trapping him in his gaze. 

 

Shit this was it! He knew. Of course he knew. 

 

“How did he get in to see you?”

 

Maybe he was safe to fuck another day after all. Someone else though; just maybe not his friend’s son. 

 

“He broke in through the ventilation system.” Phil replied completely dead pan.

 

“Undetected?”

 

Phil nodded.

 

“Ha! That's my boy,” Marcus said proudly. He leaned back and took a deep breath. “They grow up so fast. One day he can't tell the difference between a Colt and a Winchester. The next he’s bypassing security features that would make the White House jealous.” He wiped away a nonexistent tear.

 

“By the way, whoever you were fucking that gave you that monster hickey some weeks back, well keep fucking him. You actually had that stick out of your ass for a few days there.” And with that they resumed their normal banter and harassment of each other. 

 

It seemed Phil would keep that stick there for a while yet. There was no way he was going to repeat that mistake. No, all dreams of seeing Clint again (and finally sliding into that tight muscular ass) would be thrown away with the note he’d kept as soon as he got home. 

 

At least, that's what he told himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on tumblr! thepurpletie797 
> 
> Send me prompts, nag me to post or just generally haras me! Its all welcomed!


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